Mon Jan 27
We sleep in late, no reason to rush up early with not much to do. It's our third day of self-imposed full quarantine from other humans and staying in our flat.
Our news headlines read, "Chongqing New Coronavirus Update: 35 Newly Confirmed Cases Reported, A Municipal Medical Team with 144 Staff Went to Hubei. Chongqing is Reducing and Restricting Unnecessary Public Gatherings." It's chugging along. My coworker, Mikkel from Denmark, makes a map of Chongqing's downtown districts and rural areas, including the current number of infected in each area. My district has 1-5 people infected so far. It's a huge area, though, possibly the world's largest metropolitan area, so these are still relatively low numbers.
But when you think, it could take two weeks for symptoms to exacerbate to the point they're in the medical system, we can only infer and elaborate what each new day will bring, and as more and more go to get tested the hospitals will fill up and become a dangerous place themselves. It's flu season, but you could go in with the flu and come out with pneumonia, taking that home to your parents or baby. It's a scary thing.
Normally busy streets are quiet as people spend their holiday at home.
We decide to go shopping at the local market on the street and get a few things. These days it feels like everyone would rather be a vegetarian. I'm happy about this. Maybe I'm just dreaming. We get our coats and gloves, mask and goggles on, and head down to the campus gates and take a left. There are only a few people on the street, and we all keep our distance. 3 meters seems safe but is unheard of in China on a typical day, let alone Chinese New Year, but this is not a regular holiday. It's easy to keep our personal space. Everyone is wearing masks and walking quickly, with something to do. Outside of the bakery that makes my baguettes a man is sneezing and coughing, sneezing with no mask on. We stop, look around. A couple of other people freeze too. I feel attacked. This is not cool behavior. We cross the street and take the long way.
At the market, where we can shop from the street, we feel comfortable, it's not indoors, fresh air, and sunlight, but we keep our goggles and mask on. I've lent Xiaolin my clear safety goggles, so I'm wearing shaded rainbow swim goggles. Everyone else wears a mask, but most people have their eyes exposed.
We get some carrots, onions, and tomatoes. On the way back, the kneeling man is gone, who knows where. We go to the bakery, but they aren't making French bread these days. I buy two small bagged sliced loaves, one whole wheat, and one raisin, and we head home
Kai in front of his school CQFLS where he is self quarantining to stay safe from 2019-nCoV
At home, the decontamination procedure kicks in. We try to stand in place by the door. We keep the dogs back. We take off our gloves, our jackets, our hats, and our goggles. Then we wash our hands for a minute as hot as we can stand with lots of soap. Then we take off our masks and spray them down with alcohol, inside and out, and then put all that away and rewash our hands. I take a shower. And we're back inside our safe bubble, hopefully no worse for wear.
Today Xiaolin is excited about her club, Salsa 5. They are going to broadcast a class with the two new instructors from Venezuela.
The day passes quickly, writing and chatting with friends online. When her class starts, we set up her iPhone on the projector screen and move the couch. She's happy to move around and dance, and I try a little bit, but my days as a D.J. and raver don't give me the skills to keep up with my wife's lifetime of ballet and Latin dance. I'm just happy to get some exercise.
Over 500 people are dancing! And almost 1500 people are signed up to watch. It's amazing but makes sense, people are going stir crazy already and need an outlet. The screen is full of excited chatting, people sending "emoji gifts," and the numbers signed in races higher and higher. It's a happy moment, and happy moments make people in crisis and fear feel normal. When we do things like that, it just feels like normal life.
Kai tries to follow his wife as they participate in an online salsa dancing class.
That night, while I'm writing on the bed, Xiaolin just starts to scream. It's frightening. Her arm is spasming in pain, but she can't tell me what's wrong. Tears are streaming down her face. She's stuck in her sweater and turned her sore shoulder the wrong way. I help her get it off and then give her a shoulder and arm massage with tiger balm. We're both a bit freaked out by how much she's in pain. Hot tears run down her face, but the massage and the tiger balm seems to comfort her.
I worry about what would happen in a medical emergency where we are scared to call for help or to go to the hospital.
I stay up all night listening to a WHO and CDC podcast, Canadian news, American news, European news, British news, podcasts from doctors and specialists, and start listening to "city preppers," those that discuss how to survive "grid down" situations. The sun starts to peek through a break in our heavy curtains, and I turn my phone off. I get a couple of hours of restless sleep.